


War Prize

by deathtouchwlw (deathtouch)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - War, Crying, F/F, Genital Torture, Pain, Temperature Play, Torture, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:21:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22686907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathtouch/pseuds/deathtouchwlw
Summary: Femfeb 2020 | FanficAngela is given to Amelie as a war prize. Torture ensues.
Relationships: Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix & Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Comments: 7
Kudos: 41





	War Prize

**Author's Note:**

> i have chosen not to use archive warnings for this fic, but that doesn't mean that none apply. what happens to angela in this story could easily be construed as rape. if explicit torture bothers you, than this isn't the fic for you. please consider checking out some of my other works that have a lighter tone instead. 
> 
> unbeta'd! all mistakes are my own.

The canvas tent flaps were torn open and a cool rush of wind came with them. The cold chased two newcomers in through the entrance, rushing to make the parchments on the table rustle and the furs of Amélie’s collar ruffle. She glanced up from the war table, mostly disinterested in all this planning and strategy. She welcomed the distraction.

She wasn’t expecting to see Cuerva charging in, dragging someone along with him. Literally, dragging. He had a woman by the arm, fingers dug into her skin, yanking her to follow after him. She had been stripped of her clothes, stark naked where she stood. She was spotted with dirt and blood and bruises. Tears shone in her bright blue eyes, but she wasn’t actively crying. She was trying not to, at least.

“What the hell is this?” Gabriel snapped, practically snarling. He hated to be interrupted during strategy sessions. More than that, Cuerva should have known better than to bring a stranger in here. The fewer people who saw their plans, the better. Spies were everywhere in war, as were turncoats.

Mauga wisely moved to stand in front of the thick oak war table, hiding the details of it with his massive frame.

“A gift,” Cuerva smirked, pushing the woman to the ground in front of him. She went down hard and for a long moment stayed right where she was, collapsed ungracefully on the cold, grassy ground of the tent. “A healer.”

Ah. Healers generally weren’t killed during war. Sometimes accidents happened in battle, but when given an option they were almost always spared. There were superstitions about killing healers. Stories that it invited bad luck, or worst yet a curse. Anyone who killed a healer would be haunted by the ghosts of everyone that person could have saved. Military forces that killed healers were doomed to lose battles and ultimately the war.

No one really believed stories like that anymore, but it was best not to tempt fate.

“Figured one of you could find something to do with her.”

The healer had been pushing herself up on shaky arms and Cuerva shoved her back down again with a boot in her side. If Amélie had to guess, the only reason he hadn’t thrown her to his soldiers was because he was in here trying to gain favor instead. Like he could grovel his way to the top. Like his rank of captain wasn’t already well above what he deserved.

Except his plan was ill conceived. No one in this room was interested. Reyes, Ogundimu, Mauga, and Maximillien could care less. They were interested in war, not war prizes. They were more likely to be angry that he interrupted their strategizing than pleased about some prisoner they could fuck. This was no gift to them.

“Leave,” Akande ordered darkly.

Cuerva still didn’t seem to realize he’d fucked up. “Yes, sir.” Smirking, he took a neat little bow and left out the way he came, tent flaps fluttering in the bitter cold wind. He left the healer behind.

They all stood and stared at her. It wasn’t like they could just let her go. She would go running back to the enemy forces, eager to report everything she’d seen. Including this war table and everything laid out on top of it. Cuerva really didn’t think this one through, did he?

She lifted her head to find everyone’s eyes on her, but to her credit she didn’t shrink back. She held her chin high and stared hard ahead in return. She wasn’t going to beg for her life, or even for mercy.

“Well. I’ve got my own healer, I certainly don’t need this one,” Mauga mused. Everyone was perfectly aware of his relationship with Baptiste. They could be heard fucking across the entire camp at all hours of the night. Tent canvas only muffled so much. “Gabe? Akande?”

The both of them glared at Mauga, annoyed to even be asked. They weren’t interested.

Amélie wasn’t entirely interested either, but she circled around to the front of the table anyway. She knelt down easily, reaching out from beneath her heavy black cloak to lift the healer’s chin a little. Cute enough, though plain. That blonde hair and those blue eyes… this was exactly Moira’s type.

“I’ll take her,” Amélie said coolly. She was doing this for no other reason than to anger Moira, but to Amélie that was a hell of a good reason. 

This little war council had been running long. What else were they going to do? Rehash the same tired tactics again and again? Even if they did decide to continue after this interruption, it was nothing Amélie needed to be here for. Her talents were suited for fighting battles, not planning them. She was leaving, and she was going to take her new charge with her.

Amélie grabbed the healer by her arm, where Cuerva had been dragging her, and stood up. She hauled the healer up with her, forcing her back onto her feet. She seemed steady enough and willing to walk. Maybe she thought going with Amélie would be better than being stuck in here in this tent with four dangerous looking men. Maybe she thought she could make a break for it when they were back outside. Maybe she was too shell shocked and she wasn’t thinking anything at all.

Either way, she followed Amélie out into the cold. She struggled to keep up, whole body cringing against the bitter wind that cut through the rows and rows of tents. All the torches that had been lit were flickering so low, struggling against the wind, that there was almost no light at all to see by. That was alright. Amélie’s own tent was nearby, just a short walk away.

Two guards stood just outside the flap. Amélie was a valuable enough asset to be given her own security detail. Not that she needed it, she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Despite their armor and layers of clothing they had to be freezing standing out in front of her tent with no fires nearby to warm themselves. She wasn’t about to give them the night off though.

Amélie stopped just before going in, hauling the healer up for both guards to see. “If she escapes, kill her.”

With that, Amélie ducked inside her tent. It wasn’t much warmer in there, but at least the canvas kept some of the terrible wind at bay. Everything was precisely the way she left it. She didn’t have much; a table for meals, a chest with warm cloaks and clothing, a few bottles of wine, and a candelabra lit with beeswax candles. In the corner, there was a bedroll piled with warm furs. 

“Do you have a name, healer?” Amélie asked. 

“...Angela.”

Amélie went over to the chest of clothing, pushing the lid open with the toe of her boot to reveal heaps of fabric within. She wasn’t going to offer any of it to Angela, though. Oh no. She found a loose silk ribbon and used it to tie the healer’s wrists together. 

Angela put up little fight, allowing Amélie to jerk both arms behind her back and knot the ribbon around them. Perhaps not the most secure bondage, but it would work well enough. When she was done, Amélie pushed Angela towards the furs in the corner. She stumbled and sank down into them. 

Now, the reason Amélie had taken her was because she knew Moira would be jealous when she found out. Moira was, technically, their own healer. Though she spent most of her time casting curses to injure enemies rather than healing anyone. She was so smug about it too, so sure of herself and how important she was. It would be nice to get back at her in one small way or another. 

Just having Angela wasn’t enough, though. Amélie was going to have to do something with her. Something that would turn Moira green with envy when she heard about it. Amélie picked a half empty wine bottle up and uncorked it, considering her options as she stood there and sipped. 

“What am I to do with you, Angela?” 

Angela stared up at her, an expression of worry on her face. 

There were goosebumps prickled all over her skin, pale pink flesh dotted all up and down her arms and legs. Her nipples were stiff too, pointing straight ahead. She must have been freezing. Amélie was fully dressed and wearing a cloak and she still felt the chill of winter. Then again, she was always cold… 

Amélie’s eyes flickered towards the candles and an idea occurred to her. She set the bottle of wine back down on the table and traded it for one of the thick candles. It was blood red, wax dyed with saffron. There was a deep well forming underneath the lit wick where molten wax pooled. 

“Lay back,” Amélie instructed, standing over the pile of furs and Angela were she lay helplessly among them. 

“Please-“ Angela tried to beg, but stopped short when she caught the flash of warning in Amélie’s eyes. 

This healer must like getting kicked. Amélie planted a foot in her chest and shoved until she was laying on her back, tied hands pinned behind her. She looked particularly hapless and vulnerable. It sent a smell thrill through Amélie. 

Amélie wasn’t usually so sadistic. She had no cause to be. Something about Angela’s soft, sweet face moved her to violence, though. That and the reaction she would get from Moira once Moira found out. 

“I won’t kill you,” Amélie said, generously. “I just want to hurt you a little.” She tipped the candle sideways, watching with amusement as burning hot red wax splattered down on Angela’s bare skin. 

Angela screamed. 

It was almost artful the way it landed on her chest, speckles of red radiating out from where the spot of molten wax had landed. Her pale skin turned bright pink underneath, another splash of color to add to the artwork Amélie was creating. 

The screaming was good. The more people who heard, the more who would ask. The more people who asked, the faster rumors would spread. Moira would catch word of something in no time. She would no doubt come around to stick her nose in and investigate. That is, if she couldn’t wait til the morning or whenever she saw Amélie next. 

“It’s alright,” Amélie soothed sweetly. She had righted the candle in her hand, letting the wick burn, building up more liquid wax for her to spill. “Just a little more, chéri. Then this’ll all be over.” 

There were tears shining in Angela’s eyes again, welled up and watery. She seemed to know that begging or pleading would get her nowhere, and she had enough dignity not to waste her breath on a lost cause. She stared fearfully at the candle and waited, watching, braced for the worst. 

Amélie waited until she thought Angela’s guard might be down and then she tipped the candle yet again, spilling more hot wax. This time she aimed more carefully, and Angela’s left breast was ravaged by searing heat. Red wax cooled over her bare nipple, solidifying there. 

Angela did not scream this time. She choked back a sob, though. She writhed on the furs, twisting her wrist in the silk tie bindings. She bit so hard on her own bottom lip, holding all her pain and suffering in, that she broke the skin and bright red spots of blood shone between her teeth. 

Beautiful as her suffering was, Amélie couldn’t have such a silent reply. 

“Open your legs.” 

“No!” Angela gasped, and the sob she had choked back moments ago escaped her in earnest. With that, the dam broke, and she began to cry. Hard. She was so vulnerable, it ached to see her like this. 

That didn’t stop Amélie. She shoved the toe of her boot between Angela’s soft, pale thighs and forced her legs open. Angela tried to resist, but not very hard. Lord knows how much she had already been through today, it was a surprise she had any fight left in her at all. 

Despite Angela’s efforts, Amélie got her precisely where she wanted her; spread wide, with her most private parts completely exposed. Amélie almost felt a pang of sympathy pain for what she was about to do. She tipped the candle anyway, and burning hot wax went splashing down to Angela’s exposed vulva. 

She screamed, and screamed. When she was done screaming she sobbed, loud and hard. Amélie left her long enough to return the candle to the candelabra, and when she returned Angela was on her side, curled up small, crying into the fur beneath her. Poor thing. 

Amélie untied her cloak and took it off with a flourish. Fabric spread wide, she draped it over Angela’s small, shivering body. Without bothering to take anything else off, Amélie found room on the small nest of a bed, cuddling into the poor, abused healer. 

With no one else there to comfort her, Angela found herself laying her head in her torturer's lap. Amélie gently stroked her messy blonde hair back to be able to watch her face as it contorted while she cried. 

“You did wonderful, chéri,” she promised. 

Moira would certainly hear about this in the morning. Maybe the rest of command too. The more ruthless they thought Amélie was, the better. What she couldn’t offer in strategic planning she made up for with sheer violence and capability in battle. Let none of them forget it. 

She didn’t want Angela to hate her entirely, though. Not really. It was best that she didn’t try to escape, or run off with anyone else who she thought might treat her better. So, Amélie soothed her and stroked her hair and cuddled her close... 

...like she wasn’t the one who had caused all this pain to begin with. 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm taking femslash february suggestions year round  
> send requests or prompts ➝ [here](https://curiouscat.me/deathtouch)  
> femfeb '20 masterpost ➝ [here](https://twitter.com/deathtouchxx/status/1223794127822839808?s=20)  
> follow me on twitter ➝ [here](https://twitter.com/deathtouchxx)  
> thanks for reading ✩°｡⋆


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